She'll Be Back
by TutorGirlml
Summary: Stolen moments between a young boy and a cursed Huntsman/Sheriff; giving hope that the Savior will return to meet her destiny... (Some imagined scenes back in the beginning of the show's timeline)


_Hey all! Long time no write, I realize – sorry about that, if any of you were missing me! I've been working on a long, chaptered CaptainSwan story that I hope to get finished and posted before the season 4 premiere (Fingers Crossed!) However, for now, here I am with another one-shot. I'm honestly not quite sure where this is coming from, as I'm the biggest kind of a CaptainSwan fan, but I've always loved Graham and find it sad that he's never mentioned, especially considering the parallel between how he died in Emma's arms and how Milah died in Hook's. Anyway, I see this as fitting in way back at the beginning of OUAT's timeline, near the pilot. There are some imagined missing scenes here, but nothing that I would call wildly AU. I just still miss Graham, I've read some great fics with him in them recently, and this plot bunny just hopped right into my head and stared at me until I wrote. Angst and fluff and feels abound – Enjoy!_

She'll Be Back

By: TutorGirlml

His footsteps echo heavily as he trudges up the carpeted stairs, a twofold sense of dread near-strangling him at what awaits in either room. Sighing, he rakes a hand through his disheveled mop of wild curls, almost growling in frustration as his fingers tangle and pull at the mussed, honey-colored strands. Blowing out a short breath, he braces his hand for a moment against the cool wood of the door on the left of the spacious, silent upstairs hallway in the mayor's mansion. He doesn't know where Regina has gotten to, and he hopes he can get out of here tonight without knowing, but his conscience simply will not allow him to leave until he knows the boy is alright.

Knocking hopefully on Henry's bedroom door, his accent thick with concern, the Sheriff enquires, "Henry, are you okay? It's Graham. May I come in?"

He waits, not wanting to intrude on the boy's privacy, knowing how it feels to have very little space or power to call one's own.

After a moment, there are sounds of footsteps shuffling across carpet and then a rattling before the doorknob turns and Henry peeks out the partially opened door. The boy's eyes look so big in his pale little face; the charming grin he sometimes levies at Graham in the rare good moments the two of them are afforded, is entirely absent. Loss and disappointment are written all over his expression, even with just half his face showing around the wooden barrier. Those entirely too old and wise brown eyes gauge Graham for a moment, making the sheriff want to shift nervously from foot to foot, officer and adult or no. He can't decide if Henry is trying to divine his motives, or to make sure his adoptive mother is nowhere around, but finally the boy drops his gaze, says listlessly, "Sure, come in. Why not?", and steps back, opening the door fully.

Graham enters, glancing around the boy's small private domain with curiosity. He has always had a soft spot for the lad, felt for him since he seems so serious and oddly unhappy for one so young. For as long as he has known Regina, and frighteningly enough, he can't really pinpoint how long that has been, he has been amazed at her brainy, precocious child. Given the chance, he always takes a moment to speak to Henry, to hear about his day or bring him some odd trinket, and – if he is lucky – make the boy smile that guileless, gap-toothed grin.

There are Legos, and a toy chest, a book shelf crammed full and overflowing, a beanbag chair, and his bed covered by blue sheets emblazoned with knights and dragons. Graham's brow furrows, an odd twinge running through him at the glimpse of a few pieces of aged parchment peeking out from under Henry's bed, looking as though they have been ripped from an old, rather beautiful storybook. Something about them pricks at him, but he brushes it aside, knowing the sensation makes no plausible sense. Instead, he draws in a breath before asking softly, tentatively, "Are you alright, Henry?" He doesn't want to push, knows he is nothing to Henry really, and that the boy has no real reason to trust or confide in him. Still, once again, he only knows he has to try.

"She's gone," Henry laments, his tone desolate enough to snag at Graham's insides, echoing around hollowly in the sheriff's chest. Anger flares within him that Regina is not up here herself, comforting her son, soothing his pain and confusion, instead of downstairs gloating that she has run off the birth mother Henry risked so much to find and bring back. He wants to be angry at the blonde stranger – Emma – too, for leaving even after Henry's wrenching pleas, but he can't quite work up the indignation. He senses that there is more to that tale than he currently knows.

Henry walks slowly, head down, shoulders slumped, to his bed, sitting heavily on the edge. "She was supposed to stay," he continues sadly. "I brought her back. We _need _her here."

Graham hesitates a moment, then comes to sit beside Henry. He resists the urge to ruffle the boy's hair or wrap an arm around his shoulders, not wanting to seem overly familiar. He sighs, wanting to say something – anything – to bring Henry comfort, but he feels hopelessly out of his depth. He gathers that Henry feels alone, scared, and misunderstood, and that he desperately believed finding his birth mother would change that. Graham is not privy to the specific details, but he can sympathize acutely with feeling lost. He has no family, cannot remember ever feeling anything other than alone. Obviously, Henry's hopes have been crushed, and Graham wants to shore up his spirit.

"Henry," he finally offers, endeavoring to make his tone one of encouragement and understanding. "I realize that I'm just a friend of your mom. You don't know me that well. And I don't pretend to know what you wanted Emma to do here. However, she didn't seem like one to scare easily. Have faith. I have a feeling she'll be back." He doesn't have much else to offer, but he can honestly say his sense is that they truly have not seen the last of Emma Swan.

Henry's response makes his small gesture worth it. The boy doesn't speak, but he looks up at Graham, eyes crinkling with the first true smile he has worn since his mother left. A light is back on his face, and he sounds pleased when he asks, "You really think so, Sheriff?"

"I do," Graham avows, dipping his head in a slight nod of affirmation, even giving Henry a playful wink.

For one quick moment, Henry wraps his skinny arms around Graham, squeezing tightly with relief and thanks, and taking him by surprise. When he lets go, he is grinning more broadly than Graham has ever seen. "Thank you," he beams.

"No problem, Henry," Graham offers, standing again. "I merely said what I believe."

A mere few minutes later, the former Huntsman steps silently back out into the hall, leaving Henry to get ready for bed and closing the door behind him gently. He thinks for the briefest of moments that he will be able to sneak out without running into Regina. But it is not meant to be.

He turns to steal back down the stairs, only to find himself face-to-face with the Evil Queen. She reaches out her hand, beckoning him to follow, and to his utter dismay, Graham finds that he has no other choice. His limbs no longer obey his will, but hers. Horrifically, it has been this way many times before, and yet he can never understand why. The moment he sets foot in her bedchamber, Regina waves her hand to shut the door firmly and sends him flying back into it, holding him in place as if by magic. His brow furrows as he struggles to understand how this petite woman is able to trap him in unbreakable bonds without even seeming to struggle.

She crushes her lips to his, forcing herself on him in a way that makes his blood run cold, but that at the same time his body seems helpless to resist. He tries to gather the strength to push away, something inside of him ripping and tearing when the effort proves as futile as ever.

Suddenly, his cell phone buzzes, ringing from the holster at his hip and startling Regina enough to make her pull back. She nods to him that he may answer, straightening her clothes and smoothing her dark hair, and he feels himself freed to move again, as if released from some spell.

"Hello, Sheriff speaking," he answers brusquely, listening to the urgent voice on the other end of the line.

When he hangs up, Graham looks across at the Queen to explain. "There's been an accident out at the town line. Someone crashed into the sign, looks like a DWI. I'm needed at the scene."

He neglects to tell Regina, as she disgruntledly agrees he must go and allows him to leave, that the wrecked vehicle is a yellow VW Bug, and that his encouraging words to Henry have already proven true. Not only is Emma Swan back in Storybrooke…she never left.

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0

Graham watches the blonde in holding from his desk – much more intrigued than he would like to admit. She is just starting to stir, having been out cold since he found her slumped over the steering wheel of her Bug out at the town line. He is still puzzling over what to tell her exactly; sure, Regina told him to call it just what had been assumed – DWI – but he suspects with the same niggling suspicions that he often experiences that there is more to it. She had seemed fine when she left the Mayor's house – and strange things _did _seem to happen to people on that particular stretch of road.

She – _Emma, _Emma Swan, he reminds himself – sits up slowly, her hand going to what has to be an aching brow, her face scrunching up in confusion. Her entire posture and expression radiate a "Where am I?" that she doesn't speak aloud; yet he hangs back, listening to Leroy and Marco picking at each other and talking to her, before he steps in himself.

"I wasn't drunk. There was a wolf," she states belligerently when he tries to offer his explanation of how strong Regina's drinks are.

"A wolf?" he blurts in obvious disbelief, not understanding why her words cause a quickening within him, even as he tries to discount them. Strange pictures flash behind his eyes of a white creature with one red eye, and he blinks back the odd familiarity.

Emma Swan steps forward to lean against the cell bars, hands poking through. Without understanding just why, Graham feels the urge to reach forward and twine his fingers with hers, to squeeze reassuringly, if only to say that he understands the confusion she must be feeling. Instead, he meets her serious, determined gaze straight on, knowing instinctively that he is in for a fight where she is concerned.

"This may have been somewhat of a blessing in disguise," he offers slowly.

Her eyes flick up, giving him a doubtful, challenging look, but she doesn't speak, clearly waiting for him to explain himself.

"I just think that perhaps you shouldn't leave town yet. Your boy took a huge leap of faith to bring you here…" Graham hesitates, knowing he is overstepping his bounds with someone he has only just met, but he can't seem to stop himself. He rakes his hand through his hair, clears his throat, and throws caution to the wind, plunging ahead. "Maybe you should get to know him a bit."

She narrows her eyes, not liking his meddling, and he can tell that if she weren't in the holding cell, she would be backing him toward his desk, pointing an accusing finger right into the center of his chest. "Look, _Sheriff_," she somehow emphasizes the word in a way that makes it sound derogatory. "Don't pretend that you know me, or that you have any idea what I need. I'll be just fine on my own…once you let me out of here anyway." But her outburst loses steam as she realizes that she doesn't want to get too haughty with the person deciding her freedom. Beyond that, Graham wonders if he also sees a flicker of doubt, of curiosity…maybe even longing. He is struck again by the sense that he does not know her whole story, that she is afraid to see Henry now, but can't help wondering about the little boy who is her own flesh and blood.

She bites her lower lip uncertainly, and he hesitates too; neither of them know quite where to go or what to say next. Then, Regina storms in, and they are looking for Henry once more. Emma Swan offers to help, and Graham finds himself growing surer of his instincts with every passing minute. He had been right when he told Henry the night before that it wasn't the end. This mystery birth mother already cares more than she cares to reveal. Something stirs deep in his chest at the realization. He feels sensation where there has been a dull, blank void for so very long. It isn't just for Henry's sake that he hopes she will stay a little longer.

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

_Three Years Later_

The autumn breeze is cooler than normal in the evening as Emma and Henry enter the cemetery through ornate wrought iron gates and walk slowly toward the back corner, kicking their feet through the crisp carpet of yellow, orange, and brown leaves as they go. The below-average temperatures have finally begun to right themselves as Regina and Emma have both taken turns counseling, mentoring, and befriending Queen Elsa of Arendelle, and the frightened young royal begins to bring her emotions and powers back under control. Still, there is a definite nip to the air around them.

Henry is quiet, and Emma studies her son's profile as he walks at her side. She cannot believe how much he has grown and changed in just the short few years that she has been in his life. He's a young man now, not a little boy, though the pained, solemn look on his face makes her want to gather him up close in her arms all the same. She can't help being ridiculously glad she has this chance to know him at all, that she stayed in Storybrooke for him, despite how hard it had been for her at first. "Are you sure you want to do this, kid?" she asks, unable to help brushing a quick hand through his soft, brown hair.

Henry just looks at her for a moment, not stopping their forward motion, and then simply nods in confirmation. Emma finds herself following his lead, but growing more anxious with every step. She clutches the bunch of mums and black-eyed susans in her hand that much tighter and tries to focus on supporting Henry instead of the trembling going on inside of her. Still without a word to break the silence between them, Henry takes her hand, as if he senses that they both need the other to hold onto.

A lot has changed in the three years that have passed since his death, and as they near Graham's grave, Emma thinks sadly that there should be more than just the two of them here to remember him today. When they finally come to a stop beneath the low-hanging bough of a weeping willow tree beneath which the simple slate stone is sheltered, Emma kneels to place the bouquet propped against the marker's front. She stretches out her left hand to rest atop the cool stone for a moment, seeing the lace from his boot that still adorns her wrist and recalling warm smiles, kind brown eyes, bear claws, and wicked aim with darts. She sighs softly, wishing the previous sheriff had gotten his second chance along with everyone else.

"He was always good to me," Henry breaks into her thoughts with a contemplative voice. "Sheriff Graham was at our house a lot, and he listened to me. I always felt like he wanted to make me smile. Is that crazy?"

Emma shakes her head, wrapping an arm around her young man's waist and pulling him into a hug. "No, it isn't. I'm sure you're right. He could sense when people were sad or lonely, and he wanted to help. When I first came here, he did the same for me."

They both simply stare at the headstone for a few seconds more, taking at least some small comfort in the peace and beauty of this, his resting place.

Henry's voice is small and raspy when he speaks again. "Why'd she do it? …My mom. She and Graham always seemed to be close. How could she…" he swallows hard, then grits out. "How could she kill him? He was _good_…and she crushed his heart."

Emma's breath steals from her lungs. There is no good answer to Henry's question, and all this time later, she doesn't really understand it herself. She has never broached the topic with Regina. At first, she had not believed it could be true, then she had been afraid of her own anger at what she might do to Regina if her suspicions about Graham's murder were confirmed. Now that she and Regina are enjoying a tentative rapport, and that Regina has somehow managed to find some of her light and honor once again, Emma simply cannot bear to bring the one crime she will never be able to forget to light between them.

Graham is gone, along with his goofy jokes, his acceptance when she had desperately needed a place and a purpose, his assurance that she was right to stay and find out about Henry. She _does _belong here, with her son, her parents, and their weird, unbelievable extended family. It had been her destiny, but she might not have stuck around long enough to see it if he had not offered her the deputy job and his friendship, been the first one to choose her instead of pushing her away for the greater good.

Her fingers trace over the metal star at her waist, which once belonged to him, and she looks Henry directly in the eyes. "I don't know, kid. It wasn't right, or fair. I ask myself why he couldn't get his heart back and be here with everyone else all the time." She shakes her head, feeling as if she isn't giving him enough of an answer. She feels incredibly guilty now, as she has countless times before. If she had taken Graham seriously when he started talking about his missing heart… If she had believed Henry sooner… Would she have been able to stop his death?

Henry is the one to hold onto her now. "It's not your fault," he says, his voice honest and steady and of infinite comfort. "You didn't know. You did what you could."

She nods, then gives her son a watery smile. "I'm glad he was there for you back then… that he cared for you when I wasn't here…when I couldn't."

Henry's responding grin is a bit wobbly as well, but genuine. "Me too," he affirms, turning once more to place something atop the smooth stone. It's a small, carved wolf figure, and Emma marvels at how exquisite it is for something so tiny and simple. "He gave it to me once," Henry offers by way of explanation. "I thought maybe he should have it back now."

She agrees with him, then stands, preparing to head back into town for supper at Granny's. "Bye Sheriff," she whispers fondly, letting her fingers trail over the letters of his name one more time before moving away. "I haven't forgotten you."

"Thanks Graham," Henry echoes, not knowing exactly what he is thanking the man for specifically, just knowing that when he had felt unloved and misunderstood, and so very small and lonely, the poor Huntsman with no heart in his chest had always shown him kindness. The boy's eyes glance to his mom, a few steps away waiting for him to finish, but giving him a private moment to speak with his old friend. She is here now – for good – and she loves him. She had always wanted him, only given him up for his best chance. Henry remembers that night three years ago, when he had felt so crushed and defeated, how Graham had told him that Emma would be back. Eyes twinkling now, Henry leans in to whisper, as if Graham's spirit still lingers nearby to hear. "You were right," he admits happily. "She did come back. And she stayed."


End file.
